The constable said simply: "He's dead, Sergeant."
"Dead?" The sergeant's jaw dropped; he looked blankly across at Mr. Amberley.
Amberley, who had turned quickly at the constable's entrance, stood perfectly still for a moment. Then he drew out his cigarette case and took a cigarette from it with extreme deliberation. His eyes met the sergeant's; he shut the case with a snap and felt in his pocket for matches.
The sergeant sat gazing at him somewhat numbly. Mr. Amberley lit his cigarette and flicked the dead match into the grate. He inhaled a long breath of smoke and glanced at the constable. "Who sent the message?"
"I dunno his name, sir. He was a gentleman, all right. He said he had passed in his car and Tucker asked him to drive to the nearest house and get through to us."
"I see. I'll run you out there, Sergeant."
The sergeant roused himself. "Yes, sir. Harmer, get hold of Mason and Philpots, and tell them to bring the hand-ambulance along." The constable went out. The sergeant got up, looking at Amberley. "Lor', sir was that why you wanted him watched?" he said. "Was this what you was expecting?"
"It was what I was afraid of. Damn that fool Tucker!"
The sergeant dropped his voice lower. "Is it murder, Mr. Amberley?"
Amberley gave a grim smile. "Getting quite acute, aren't you? You'll find the coroner's jury will return a verdict of accidental death. Are you ready to start?"
Not until he was seated beside Amberley in the car did the sergeant speak again. Then he said: "If it was murder are you going to let it go at that, sir?"
"Did I say it was murder?" said Amberley.
The big Bentley tore through the town but slowed as it drew clear of the last straggling houses. The ground dipped here, and they ran into a thick mist which grew denser as the road approached the river.
"Steady, sir!" besought the sergeant. "Get a lot of fog here at this time of the year. It's the clay."
"Yes. You could almost bank on running into fog, couldn't you?"
A little farther along the road they saw a figure loom up through the mist, waving. Amberley ran the car into the side of the road and stopped. The mist was floating in wreaths across the glare of the headlights; through it they could see the blurred outline of a second man and of a figure lying face downwards on the ground.
The sergeant got out of the car as quickly as his bulk would permit. "Is that you, Tucker? How did this happen?"
Mr. Amberley suddenly put up his hand to his spotlamp and switched it on. Its beam swung to the left and rested on the second man. It was Collins, dripping wet, and in his shirt-sleeves. "How very interesting!" said 1VI r Amberley, and got out of the car.
The sergeant strode up to Collins. "And what miglü you be doing here, my man?" he inquired.
The valet's face was grey; sweat stood on his forehc;i& he seemed exhausted.
"It was him got Brown out," Tucker said reluctantly "When I - when I come up, he was trying to bring him round. We've been working on him solid, but it's no good, Sergeant. He's dead."
"Yes, and that's something you'll explain back at the station," said the sergeant. He looked at Collins. "As for you, you'll come along too, and explain yourself. Keep your eye on him, Tucker." He turned away and went to join Amberley, who was on his knees beside Mark's body.
The boy's head was turned to one side, and his arms were stretched out.
Amberley spoke without looking up. "A light, Sergeant."
The sergeant produced a torch from his pocket. Amberley took it and turned it full on to Mark's head, searching closely. "Help me to turn him over, will you?"
They shifted the limp body on to its back; Mark's eyes were closed, and his jaw sagged slightly. Amberley pushed the wet hair gently off his brow and brought the torch nearer. After a moment he switched the light off and rose.
"Not a sign of a blow. Accidental death, Sergeant."
"What, with that Collins standing here?" muttered the sergeant. "We'll see about that!"
"I'm afraid we shall," said Amberley. He walked back to the car. "You'd better get inside and put that rug round you, Collins." He got into the car himself as he spoke, and sat down at the wheel, looking frowningly ahead of him.
The sergeant wanted to know whether Collins had been cautioned, and upon hearing that he had not, promptly cautioned him himself. The valet said nothing.
The sergeant spread Tucker's discarded coat over Mark's body and stood beside it, waiting for the ambulance to come up. Tucker began to stammer out an explanation and was sternly checked. "We'll hear all about that up at the station," said the sergeant.
It was very cold on the road, and the mist spread a depressing dampness. The valet was shivering in the back of the car, his pale eyes fixed on the dead man. He raised them to the sergeant's face for a moment. "And," said the sergeant afterwards to Mr. Amberley, "say what you like, if ever a man looked like murder it was him. Dived in to rescue him, did he? Dived in to push him under, more likely. I tell you, sir, when I caught his eye he was looking like a fiend. And I'm not exaggerating neither."
The hand-ambulance came up at last, and Mark's body was lifted on to it and covered with a rug. The two policemen who had brought it set off with it towards the mortuary, and the sergeant climbed into Amberley's car again.
The drive back to the police station was accomplished in silence. When they arrived Collins was sent off under escort to get a change of clothing, and Tucker and Amberley went off with the sergeant into his office.
Tucker's account of the accident was necessarily incomplete, as he had not been near enough to witness it. In obedience to his instructions he had followed Mark to the Blue Dragon earlier in the evening and had hung about outside for some time. He had looked in after a while and observed that Mark was, as usual, sitting at a table in the corner in a kind of huddle, too drunk to get up to any mischief. He had understood from the inspector that Mr. Amberley suspected Brown of meaning to do something that would have some connection with Dawson's murder; he had not thought that in that fuddled state the boy could need much watching. Besides, he never came out till closing-time. He had only gone a few steps up the road to get himself a cup of hot tea, and he had not imagined any harm would come of sitting for a bit in the warm and having a chat with the man who kept the eating-house. He had returned to his post only a few minutes after closing-time to find that Mark had already set out for home. He followed, not that he had seen much sense in it, but those had been his orders. Brown must have left the Blue Dragon before it closed, for although he had walked along at a brisk pace he had not caught up with him. It was just as he had approached the bend in the road that brought it alongside the river that he had heard someone shouting for help. He had broken into a run and arrived on the scene of the accident just in time to see Collins, obviously in an exhausted condition, drag Brown's body up the bank, turn it onto its face, and start to apply artificial respiration. He had joined him at once; they had worked like niggers to bring the young man back to life. He himself had felt sure after ten minutes that it was too late, but Collins cursed him and made him go on. Collins had kept on panting that the boy hadn't been under long enough to be drowned, that they must bring him back to life. But they had not succeeded in getting so much as a flicker out of Mark.
It was Tucker who had stopped the first car that passed them. He had not liked to leave Collins with the body and he had told the owner of the car, who was Mr. Jarrold, from Collinghurst, to ring up the police station and deliver a message.
Tucker told his story straightforwardly, but took care not to look at Mr. Amberley. It was plain that he expected censure, for he said several times that the inspector had never told him that Brown was not to be let out of his sight.
"You're a fool," said the sergeant, and rang for Collins to be brought in.
The valet had been fitted out with a suit of clothes only a little too large for him, and given a hot tot. The grey shade had left his face, and his eyes, which the sergeant had thought murdero
us, were as cold and as expressionless as ever.
He recounted his share in the night's happenings quite composedly. He had been some little way behind Brown, whom he had just been able to see lurching along through the mist. The young gentleman seemed very intoxicated; several times he had stumbled and he had not been able to keep a straight course. So erratic had been his footsteps that Collins had hurried to come up with him, fearing that some car, its driver unable to see clearly in the fog, might run him over. It had been equally hard for him to see clearly, though he had had his torch in his hand. They must have noticed that the fog was particularly thick down there in the hollow where the road ran immediately beside the river. He thought the boy must have wandered off it and stumbled over the edge of the bank. He had seen him disappear and heard him cry out as he fell. There had been a splash, and he had at once run to the spot where he had last seen the young gentleman. He had shouted to him, but there was no answer; not a sound. Knowing in what condition the gentleman was, he had feared that he would not be able to swim to shore. He had thought it his duty to go in after him and he had done so, only stopping to take off his coat and boots. He had dived in and swum about for what seemed hours. He thought the gentleman must have sunk at once; if he struggled at all it could not have been for long, since there was nothing but silence when he, Collins, entered the water. He had almost despaired of bringing him up when he had grasped something in the water and knew it for a hand. He was not a great swimmer, but he had managed to get the body to the bank and to drag it up on to the road again. He had shouted several times for help, as he himself was exhausted and had hardly enough strength to apply artificial respiration. He had done the best he could until Tucker came up; he thought that Tucker would bear him out over that.
The sergeant listened to this tale in sceptical silence. At the end he said: "That's how it happened, is it? And what might you have been doing on the Collinghurst Road at that hour of night?"
The answer astonished him. "I was following the young gentleman," said Collins.
The sergeant, who had been sure of it, was nonplussed. "Oh you were, were you?" he said rather feebly. "And why?"
Collins glanced fleetingly at Amberley. "I have been endeavouring to get into touch with the young gentleman since a very unpleasant little affair took place at the manor three evenings ago. I think Mr. Amberley will know to what I refer."
"Never you mind what Mr. Amberley knows," said the sergeant. "What was this unpleasant affair?"
Collins moistened his lips. "Well, Sergeant, Mr. Brown being under the influence of spirits, came up to the manor and upon my opening the door to him, addressed me in a threatening way which I could not at all account for. He seemed to mistake me for someone else."
"He did, eh? And what made you think that?"
"I could not suppose, Sergeant, that the young gentleman had really any grudge against me."
"You didn't know him at all, did you?"
A slight crease appeared between Amberley's brows.
There had been enough meaning in the sergeant's voice to put Collins on his guard.
"I could hardly say that I knew him, Sergeant," said the valet suavely. "I hope I know my place. But I had met Mr. Brown in Upper Nettlefold one afternoon when he was not quite himself. Upon that occasion he was extremely friendly. Indeed, so very friendly that he attempted to make me a present of his cigarette case. I believe that alcohol does take gentlemen like that sometimes. Mr. Brown seemed to be under the impression upon that occasion that I was a friend of his. Nothing would do but that I should take his cigarette case. Naturally I returned it as soon as possible."
"You sent it back to him?"
"No, Sergeant, I took it to Ivy Cottage myself and gave it to Mr. Brown," said Collins tranquilly.
The sergeant shot an eloquent look at Amberley.
"Mr. Brown," continued Collins, "was quite sober at the time and behaved just as a gentleman should."
"It sounds to me like a funny story," said the sergeant. "But go on! Why did he go up to see you at the manor?"
"I have no idea, Sergeant. It has been troubling me a good deal, if I may say so. The young gentleman attempted to shoot me, as you, sir' - he bowed to Amberley - "will no doubt remember. Mr. Fountain, not wishing to be hard on Mr. Brown, who was not himself, let him go. But he used certain expressions towards me which I was quite at a loss to understand. In fact he threatened to shoot me at the first opportunity."
"Which was why you went dogging his footsteps, I suppose," said the sergeant, sarcastically.
"Exactly so, Sergeant." Nothing could shake the valet's calm self-possession. "It was a very unpleasant feeling to know there was a young gentleman suffering from such a dangerous delusion. It seemed to me that I could not do better than to try to meet Mr. Brown and endeavour to discover what it was he fancied he had against me. Of course, it is not always convenient for me to get off duty, but this evening, Mr. Fountain being in London and not expected back until late, I was able to leave the manor. Knowing Mr. Brown's - habits - I took the liberty of waiting for him at the Blue Dragon. Not wishing to have any sort of a scene in public, it was my intention to follow him home and there ask him what I might have done to offend him. Then everything happened as I have informed you, Sergeant."
The sergeant was palpably disgusted with this story, which he did not in the least believe. But there did not seem at the moment to be any way of proving its falsity, nor could he very well charge Collins with having pushed Mark Brown in the river. Tucker's evidence showed that Collins had not only plunged in to rescue Mark, but that he had also refused to give up trying to resuscitate him when the policeman had pronounced the task to be hopeless. He looked for guidance towards Mr. Amberley, but Amberley was speaking to the valet. He wanted to know whether any car had passed him when he was following Mark, or any pedestrian. Collins answered unhesitatingly that he had seen no one until Mr. Jarrold had come by and been hailed by Tucker.
Mr. Amberley seemed to be satisfied and walked away to the fireplace and began to fill a pipe.
"I suppose you can go," said the sergeant reluctantly.
"Mind, I don't say I like the sound of this story of yours, because I don't. If you could bring witnesses to prove it all happened like you said that would be different. But all you've told me rests on your word alone, and the only person who could say different is drowned."
The valet said slowly: "I feel sure, Sergeant, that Miss Brown will bear me out that her brother had no reason to want to murder me. Apart from the occasions I have mentioned I never to my knowledge set eyes on the young gentleman."
"You may be sure we shall have a word with Miss Brown, my man," promised the sergeant.
"Yes, Sergeant. I should be very glad if you would," said Collins meekly.
"And don't forget you'll be wanted at the inquest," said the sergeant, and made a gesture of dismissal.
The valet went out escorted by Constable Tucker, and the sergeant sat back in his chair and looked at Mr. Amberley.
"Well, sir? What do you make of that?" he inquired.
"I told you you'd get a verdict of accidental death, Sergeant."
"You aren't going to tell me you believe that pack of lies, sir?"
"Oh no," said Amberley. "But how very hard they are to refute! Effusive friendliness on Brown's part to begin with. Highly probable, Sergeant. A drunken man once tried to press a fiver on to me. The visit to Ivy Cottage most reasonably explained; you know, he is remarkably quick-brained, is Mr. Albert Collins; it is a pleasure to deal with him. The reason for following Brown tonight. A little less credible, perhaps, but still quite plausible. I'm afraid you won't be able to saddle him with Brown's death, Sergeant."
"Maybe I will, maybe I won't," said the sergeant. "But if ever I see a wrong 'un Albert Collins is one."
"I think you are probably right," said Mr. Amberley, picking up his hat. "I am now going to relieve you of a distasteful job. You needn't notify Miss Brown of what has happened."
>
The sergeant looked pleased. "I'd take it very kindly if you'll really do that, Mr. Amberley, sir. And you might see what she has to say about this little fairy tale we've been listening to. You might do it better than what I can."
"I shouldn't wonder," said Mr. Amberley.
Chapter Nine
Shirley had not gone to bed when Mr. Amberley arrived at Ivy Cottage. She was waiting for her brother to come home, and when she flung open the front door Amberley saw from her pale, anxious face that she was worried by Mark's lateness.
She recoiled when she saw who it was. Her instinct was to slam the door in his face, but she curbed it and remarked that she supposed he had once more brought Mark home.
"No," Amberley said gravely. "I'm afraid I haven't. Will you let me come in for a moment?"
His unusual gentleness warned her that something was amiss. Her eyes questioned him dumbly.
"I haven't come to make myself a nuisance to you," he said with a slight smile. "I've got a piece of bad news to deliver."
Her hand shook on the door. "Something has happened to Mark!" she whispered.
"Yes," he replied briefly.
She stood back, allowing him to enter. "Please tell me. Is he dead?"
He drew her into the living room and stood looking rather sternly down at her. "Yes, he's dead. Will you tell me why you so instantly leaped to that conclusion?"
She put her hands up to her face, pressing the palms against her temples. "You said you had not come - to worry me - with questions. When he's late like this - I always imagine things. How did it happen?"
"He was on his way home, drunk, of course - and he apparently stumbled over the edge of the bank into the river.
Her hands fell to her sides. He saw her draw a quick breath. Her eyes, fixed on his face, held a look of terror. He realised suddenly that he had never before seen her afraid. For the first time she struck him as being pathetic, with her gallant pretence of calm and those great, searching eyes trying to read what he was thinking.
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